


Bertie Wooster and the Trophy of Trouble

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Christmas, Fake Marriage, Halloween, House-Elf Magic (Harry Potter), I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: Bertie wins a prize. It's not cursed, but he still ends up with a fiance and Jeeves leaving the nest. What's a blot to do?
Relationships: Bertram "Bertie" Wooster/Original Female Character(s), Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Bertie Wooster and the Trophy of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on Livejournal.

I stagger into my apartment, uncaring that the sun is creeping up across the way and I’m just now getting home. I was quite pleased with myself, though Jeeves had actually won the day. The grey twill suit I was wearing was offset with a pale blue tie and matching waistcoat, matching even the small blue flower in the buttonhole. Jeeves had wanted me to wear full evening wear, and I’d remarked on if I wanted to wear tails I’d have been born some kind of fish creature.

Jeeves is standing before me, puffed into my path by a bit of magic, his face calm even as I show him my latest triumph. “I won, Jeeves!” 

His intelligent eyes take in the small trophy with the liquid trapped in the cup, unspilled even by my sloshing myself across the Metrop. to bring him the thing. The words glitter across the face of the thing _Bertie Wooster, best Muggle costume._

“Well done, Sir.” 

“Don’t act as if you are blameless in this thing, Jeeves. You dressed me, went against my suggestion of that zoot suit I saw.” 

“Forgive me Sir, but the contest was for best Muggle, not best banana.” 

“I don’t know why I doubted you, you certainly knew best.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“In fact, if it weren’t for you, I’d have been locked in the Muggle loony bin years ago, dressing in my normal apparel.” 

“You are very kind, Sir. Shall I help you ready for bed?” 

“Oh, yes, with a bit of a nightcap.” 

“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves says with a bow and I move past him to stagger to my bedroom. 

I get there and have to let Jeeves help me out of the strange togs, not my usual robe and sundries. When I’m in my pajamas, climbing into my turned down sheets, already at the perfect temperature, I find the nightcap is sitting on my bedside table. I down it, before downing myself further into my bed. 

“Thank you, Jeeves, everything is just topping.” 

“Rest well, Sir.” 

I’m about to tell him I will, when Morpheus takes a whack at my pudding of a head. 

**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **J <3B **

It’s after luncheon on a strangely balmy November the first, before I remember the trophy from the previous evening’s Halloween bash, and I have to ask Jeeves for its whereabouts. 

“I have put it in your office, Sir.” 

“Jeeves, by putting it in my office and not, say, on the mantle, are you suggesting it is not the thing to put up where everyone can see it?” 

“It would not be my place, Sir. I merely thought you might want to hide it from covetous eyes until you used the wish inside.” 

“There’s a wish inside?” I stand and go for a look, even though Jeeves would have brought it to me if I asked. 

It’s on my desk and easy to spot, as I never use my desk and it’s immaculate. If it wasn’t for the glow on the top of the trophy, it could have been confused for a bog standard inkwell. My name and accomplishment are still on the front, but the smaller print is visible without eyes swimming in fire whiskey. 

_Included is one wish for what you truly want. To activate, press wand tip to surface._

“That’s rather a topping prize, isn’t it Jeeves?” 

“It is interesting, Sir.” 

“When you say interesting in that tone, I know all is not right with the world.” 

“I would never presume to speak on the state of the world, Sir.” 

“What’s wrong with the wish?” 

“It is a powerful, single use spell. It is my understanding that it will give you what you want most, but only what you want most. Such a spell might find a desire that you are actually unaware of and as such you may not be able to handle the consequences, Sir.” 

“Ye of little faith. You have no trust in the young master, do you?” 

“On the contrary, Sir…”

“Save your answer, for I have found the flaw in your careful reasoning.” 

“Indeed, Sir?” 

“What you have overlooked, is that I want for nothing. I am from an ancient magical family. Though I will not be remembered for my magical skills or any contributions to the world, I have enough magic to get by and money enough in my Gringotts vault. What does the spell do for those who want nothing, Jeeves? Answer me that.” 

“Sir, everyone wants something, even if it is only a pair of wool socks, and even if they do not admit it to themselves.” 

“Tosh, Jeeves.” 

“Forgive my interference, Sir.” 

“Forgiven and forgotten. Let’s get on with this experiment.” 

“If you say so, Sir.” 

As I’ve got such long arms, Jeeves had made me a wand holster for the inside of my left arm. This meant that once he dressed me in the morning, until he undressed me at night, I was never without my wand. I lost the thing so often at Hogwarts Prof. Armando Dippet put a locator charm on it, so all I had to do was ask him, he’d tell me where it was and I could go get the thing. I’d tried to come up a similar deal after leaving the school, but I’d found Jeeves’ solution to be much more elegant. 

Elegant, now there is a word you don’t often find in reference to a house elf. Strange, how I hardly thought of Jeeves as a house elf, when Jeeves seemed to be a magical creature unto himself, working miracles beyond the understanding of the rest of the magical world. I’d never heard of another house elf doing the accounts and correspondence, but Jeeves had informed me that he could, so I let him. In effect, Jeeves had taken over my life since I’d been in this flat, and my life had never been better. It was a bit of an effort to even remember he was a house elf and not some mystical force that knew my whims and wants before I did and only chose to present itself to me when words were required. 

My Aunts didn’t like him, often complaining about how dependent I was upon a lowly house elf for, well, everything. He went where I went, and his tiny coughs were the vocal indications of real magic about to be performed, the magic that kept me one of nature’s bachelors. Jeeves was special though, even if he didn’t really like to be praised that way. In fact, as I contemplate the wish in the trophy in my hand, I think the only thing I really wish for was others to see him for the special being he was. 

A silly wish, as it should be obvious to anyone with eyes just how special he was. The house elves in my Aunt’s homes wore tea towels and bits of rags for clothing. My Jeeves had fashioned his allowed rags into a clean and pressed pair of trousers, over which he wore the tea towel toga of most of his kind. Jeeves has a thick patch of dark hair, kept carefully slicked back and a long, crooked nose. I’d asked about the way his nose darted to one side, but he’d always managed to not answer, without offending me. 

I knew he was special, even if no one else ever would, and he didn’t like to be shown as special. It would have been very silly to waste a wish on letting the world see him as such, so instead I would prove to him that I didn’t need anything, that I was a wish free person, simply because I had him. With a smile, and no fear or worries, I poke the liquid with my wand. It boils, fizzes and nothing happens. 

Triumphantly, I spin around to gloat about how right I was, automatically looking down to where a house elf tends to be. Not a house elf in sight, instead a naked man with slicked back black hair is kneeling and bent over, as if in great pain. Wand in hand, I kneel before him to see what I can do, and call for the only one who actually knows what to do. 

“Jeeves!” 

At my call, the man before me gives a real cough, as if forcing lungs to work, nothing like the delicate chirps of a distant Doxy about to dash after a Bowtruckle. Jeeves doesn’t appear, as he is compelled to when I speak his name, so I pound the man on his back and try to be helpful. My version of helpful, when summoning Jeeves doesn’t work, involves rambling. 

“Dash it! He normally comes when I call, that’s what he does, right? Perhaps if you could tell me how to help you, whoever you are, I could do something more than ramble while you get your sealegs under you. Though, we’re not at sea, so land legs I suppose would be a more apropos expression, if apropos is the word I want. Where is Jeeves to tell me if that’s the word I want?” 

“Sir.” 

Jeeves’ deep rumble comes from the man before me, but I still don’t believe my ears. If my brain doesn’t know anything, why would my ears? 

“Sir, I am Jeeves.” He knows I’m not ready to believe him, so he looks up and lets me see his face. 

It’s the nose that proves it to me, and I fall back onto my billowy bits at what a bloomer I’ve made. 

“Oh, Jeeves, I’ve made a bit of a bloomer.” 

“Indeed, Sir?” 

He means it as one of the emotionless questions he often asks of me, when I make a weak argument he could refute with half his brain tied behind his back. It doesn’t reach that level of indifference, and it hits me like a physical blow. 

“You’re right, Jeeves, as always. You said I wasn’t ready to use that wish and I should have listened but I wanted to prove to you I was happy. I thought about wishing for the world to see how special you were, but decided you didn’t want that, so I wished for nothing. That is, I didn’t wish, I just poked the potion.” 

“I shall be better directly, Sir.” 

“Tosh, Jeeves. You should just take it easy, and tell me what I should do.” 

“The spell may reverse on its own, Sir.” 

“It may not, what do you want me to do?” 

“Perhaps you should go to the club, and find out who made the trophies. They may be able to reverse this.” 

“I’ll go now. Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?” 

“Helping is my task, Sir.” 

“And you do it wonderfully, did I ever tell you that?” 

“Frequently, Sir.” 

“Right-ho then, I’ll go do that.” 

I fight to my feet, and walk around the kneeling figure, getting a different look at things. Those neat little pants he’d made hadn’t changed with his form. They’d retreated to a mud-like puddle under him, and I suspected he was waiting for me to leave before risking standing. Why was that awareness tinged with disappointment? 

“Jeeves?” 

“Yes, Sir?” 

“Are you sure you want to switch back?” At my question, he looks up and over his shoulder at me and something in my stomach decides to go for a brisk walk around the park. 

“You can order me to do as you would prefer, Sir.” 

“I want you to be happy, so I’ll do as you said and find out who made the trophies.” As I say this, I force my eyes to the front fireplace. 

The Floo network gets me directly to the Drones, though normally I’d rather walk than risk messing up the address. Once, after Pongo’s birthday, I’d popped out of the fireplace of a Muggle family starting their day. I was congratulated for finding the fault in the Floo network, as the Muggle family shouldn’t have even been on the network, but that didn’t help with the embarrassment. The Muggle family all got their memories altered, but I had to remember it. 

Since I’m going for a reason and not a drinking contest, I toss in the Floo powder and head for the Drones Club. I hack up a cough as I dust myself off, stepping out of the fireplace at the drones. I’m presented with a glass of water, which I enjoy before speaking to the man handing it to me. 

“Rogers, who made the prizes for the contest last night?” 

“I can find out sir, if you would like to wait.” 

“I’ll be at the bar, but please hurry.” 

I make my way to the bar and order a Butterbeer, taking it to the nearest table littered with people I know. “What ho. Do any of you know who made the prizes for last night?” 

“My sister did.” Tartan looked up from his pint, with surprise in his eyes. 

Tartan had been two years behind me at Hogwarts, and a different house, Slytherin, I think, so I didn’t know him well enough to know how he would respond to what I had to ask. 

“Tartan, old sport, don’t get me wrong, it was jolly decent of you, but I need my wish reversed.” 

“Those were fantastic prizes, so what’s wrong with them?” 

“Nothing wrong with the prizes, as you said. It was fantastic, but more than this blot could handle. I made a mess of it, and I need it reversed.” 

“Fine by me, but you’ll have to wait.” 

“Wait, wait for what?” 

“My sister made the prizes over her summer holidays and left instructions to not be disturbed until Christmas. It’s her N.E.W.T. year.” 

“Oh, surely an owl wouldn’t be too much of a distraction? You could just ask for the info another wizard would need to reverse the effects.” 

“I’ll ask, if…”

“If? Go on, ask away, I need to fix this.” 

“If you get that house elf of yours to give me the recipe for his hangover cure.” 

“I’ll ask, but I’m sure he’ll do it, I’ve messed up that bad.” 

“Just order him to Bertie, and I’ll send the owl now.” 

“Oh.” I supply to the conversation, and everyone begins to laugh. 

They made jokes at my expense, while I drink my Butterbeer and try to smile. My friends often mocked me for how I treated Jeeves, the lowly house elf I asked to do things and rewarded with gifts. Most house elves had a bed of rags in cupboard somewhere, but I’d told Jeeves he could use the furnished butler’s pantry that came with my apartment. When I found out he liked to read, I bought him books, even some from Muggle bookshops. Maybe this was why I wanted Jeeves to be seen as special, so I wouldn’t be seen as a fool. 

“Send the owl, Tartan, and I’ll get you a hangover recipe. Must dash, got a bit of a mess to deal with.” 

Nobody asks, as they seem more interested in mocking me, but I head back to the fireplace and meet up with Rogers. 

“Mr. Wooster, I saw you talking with the gentleman who brought in the prizes.” 

“Yes, he says his sister made them and he needs to send her an owl at Hogwarts. Could you assist him with this?” 

“If he requests, I can assist him, sir.” 

“Anything you can do, I’d appreciate. I messed up and my house elf has caught the short end of the stick.” 

“Jeeves, sir?” 

“Yes, so I have to make this right.” 

“Sir, I will see to it that the message is sent before too much longer. Please tell Jeeves that I wish him a speedy recovery.” 

“Thank you, Rogers. I’m sure he’ll be grateful to hear the world isn’t full of brainless blots on the landscape who accidentally ruin his life.” 

“I suspect that Jeeves had more difficulties in his life than a kind master who is concerned for his welfare.” 

“Oh, well, thank you.” I blinked at him a bit before retreating to the fireplace. 

Jeeves had often picked me up at the Drones, Apparating me home when I was too sloshed or tired or what have you. Still, it surprised me that Rogers knew Jeeves, as Jeeves had never fixed anything for Rogers, at least as far as I was aware. Dusting myself off as I emerged into the fireplace in the flat, I found human Jeeves waiting on me. He was wearing one of my older robes, waiting with his hands behind his tall, broad back, hair still perfectly in place. 

“Sir, was your mission successful?” 

“A bit, Jeeves. Tartan said his sister made them. Apparently she’s quite the clever witch, but she’s still at Hogwarts. He said he’d send her an owl, but only if I got your hangover recipe out of you. I know you’ve been hesitant before, secrets of the species and such, but I thought this might be a good exception, or as good as any.” 

“I will write down the instructions for him. I would like to thank you for not reprimanding me for wearing your robe, Sir.” 

“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me. You’re rather the charming human, you know, and if you want I’ll call the tailor and have you kitted out.” 

“A very kind offer, Sir, but unnecessary, unless the young lady hesitates in replying to the owl.” 

“She might, Jeeves, that’s what I was afraid to tell you. She’s studying for her N.E.W.T.S. and you know how these bright, serious minded types are. Doesn’t want to be disturbed for anything, and that only assumes she’ll agree to help. She could be just like Tartan, always wondering what’s in it for her and such.” 

“Will you be dining in, Sir?” 

Jeeves’ new face doesn’t change, but I can tell a delaying tactic when I hear one. He doesn’t want to think about this girl not helping or not being able to help. The question is, what answer does he want? Should I go out, leave him to his misery? Or stay in and give him something to do, and stare at the way my robe is pulled across his chest when he puts his hands behind his back? 

“I think I’ll stay in, just in case anything else happens, such as the spell reversing or something.” 

“Very good, Sir. I feel I should begin to prepare your dinner now, as I do not know if my magic will be much assistance.” 

“Did you want me to go out? Save you the effort and such?” 

“Sir, you should do as you see fit.” 

“I’d rather stay with you, if it’s all the same, but I don’t want you to strain yourself. I could owl out and have something delivered if you wanted.” 

“I would rather prepare your meal myself, Sir.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll come to the kitchen with you, and have my magic ready for any assistance you might need.” 

“Most kind of you, Sir, but your wand is in the office still. Perhaps you should retrieve it, and wait on the chesterfield. I will inform you if I come across a task I cannot handle.” 

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, Jeeves.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Jeeves bows and has to turn and walk out of the room, instead of disappearing as is his normal want. I go to the office, replace my wand in the holder and try not to sulk as I take my latest spine-tingler to the chesterfield. I open it, and shivery bolts tingle up my spine, letting me know this is a mystery story, as if the title, _The Perilous Pixies of Plymouth_ , didn’t give it away. 

I can’t concentrate on the words though, once the bolts stop, because I’m thinking about how Jeeves’ voice finally seems to fit his body. I know most house elves, if you can get them to say more than yes, sir, no, sir, tend to have squeaky voices that just beg for approval. Jeeves always had this deep rumble that seemed more destined for, well, the sturdy, tall bloke currently in my kitchen. Strong too, unless I missed my guess. Would he be warm if I hugged him to me? 

I jerk upward at the thought, dropping my book as I think about that. House elf Jeeves was so much more than the house elves I was used to, and now I was having unclean thoughts about his human self. Is this what I really wished for, a warm, human body that was as servile and docile as a house elf? That didn’t sound like something I’d wish for, nor was Jeeves ever servile and docile, but maybe he would be if trapped in a human body and waiting on me to free him. I needed his council, so I put my feet on the Floor to walk to the kitchen, before I could think any more similarly distressing thoughts. Jeeves chose that moment to walk out of the kitchen, and offer me a small bow as he presented a parchment. 

“Sir, this is the recipe for my hangover cure that your friend requested. Perhaps you could deliver it to him, while I ready your evening meal.” 

“Right ho, Jeeves. Rogers sent his wishes for a speedy recovery, from whatever I did to you, though I didn’t go into details.” 

“That was most kind of him, Sir.” 

I take the parchment and head for the fireplace, as much to put off the thoughts I had been thinking as to visit Tartan. 

Once there, I get a report from Rogers that Tartan did send the Drones’ owl to Hogwarts. I present Tartan with the recipe, and he’s smart enough to get the valuable thing out of the club before the other Drones realize what a hot little item he has. They’ve all wanted that magic concoction since I told them about it. 

I down a Firewhiskey before returning to the apartment, where I spend the evening trying not to stare as Jeeves move around in my robe. Is it just me, or is this November very, very warm? Warm enough that Jeeves isn’t wearing anything under that robe, I’d wager, and the heat goes up another few degrees. 

**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **J <3B **

The next two weeks become a blur of Flooing to the Drones, tracking down Tartan and trying to find out if he heard anything. Once I get back to the flat, everything slows down to a crawl, as I watch Jeeves go about his duties, while trying not to look like I’m watching Jeeves. Human Jeeves holds my attention as no filly ever has, or no bloke for that matter. 

Jeeves is everything he was as a house elf, manages to pull Bingo, Biffy, Claude and Eustace out of the soup without even leaving the apartment or coming face to face with those individuals. He seems to be hiding from them, not wanting them to see what I did to him. The really rummy thing is he’s taken to hiding in my dreams, the kind of dreams I haven’t had in years and leave me with messes I know he sees. I make an effort to clean it up, but I know I can’t put anything over on Jeeves. 

One morning, he comes to wake me, and he wakes my body before my mind, so I’m curling my legs and hoping he doesn’t notice as I take the tea cup from him. As he leaves the room, I realize I was dreaming about him lying beside me to wake me, at the same time as his voice was calling out to me. It’s too much, and as soon as I’m able, dressed and outside some food, I send an owl to Tartan’s parents, asking after both their children. 

After luncheon, I get a politely worded reply, saying all their children are fine and giving me a name of the girl at Hogwarts, so I could contact her without Tartan getting in the way. They want to know why I want to know, but don’t come out and ask so I feel it’s acceptable to ignore them. It’s either that, or tell them their son is an ass who was trying to weasel out of a deal, so I felt I had the high ground here. Then I was able to send an owl directly to their daughter, hoping Minny wasn’t as big an ass as her older brother. 

The next morning, a letter was on my tray with my breakfast and I pounced on it. A quick read through and I turn to Jeeves. 

“Jeeves! We’re in luck. Tartan’s sister is not an ass.” 

“Always a wonderful thing to hear about someone, Sir.” 

“She says Tartan didn’t tell her what had happened, just that he had something to talk about when she got back, and that she’d very much like to help. She lists the spells and ingredients she used if we wanted to find somebody else to help, otherwise we’ll have to wait until Hogwarts’ winter holidays.” 

“I would not pressure you to find another wizard to break this spell, Sir.” 

“I know you wouldn’t, but I would. Trouble is, I don’t even know who to call.” 

“I have someone in mind, Sir, if I may take the initiative.” 

“Initiate away, dear thing, as I visit the _salle de bain_.”

“Very good, Sir.” 

After a tour of the _salle de bain_ , including a rousing chorus or two of _Putting on the Leaky Cauldron_ Jeeves helped me dress and introduced me to the stranger in my apartment. Said stranger ignored me, and Jeeves spoke softly so as to not disturb the man. Jeeves didn’t explain how he knew Nicolas, but as he seemed to know everybody, I’d given up on asking long ago. Nicolas was busy, waving his wand and chanting over the trophy that had started all this. 

I took a seat on the chesterfield and let the man work. About the time Jeeves presented me with a perfect cup of tea, Nicolas stepped back and sat in a chair. Jeeves handed him a cup of tea, which he sipped before speaking. He spoke to Jeeves, as if unaware I was even there. I didn’t mind, I often wanted people to talk to Jeeves instead of me, it was just unusual. 

“Jeeves, as much as I appreciate your ability to find rare ingredients, I’m afraid I can’t help you with this.” 

“Would it be impolite to ask why, Mr. Flamel?” 

“The original spell was expertly done, but someone with less skill has messed around with it. Best I can determine, they tried to thin it out so they could give away the prize and use the wish too. I could try a few things, but it would be safer to let the creator attempt to fix this.” 

“I understand, Sir. I appreciate you taking the time to consult in this matter.” 

Nicolas stood, handing Jeeves his empty teacup. “For what it’s worth, Jeeves, I think this suits you.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Jeeves bows, and Nicolas Disapparates while he does so. 

“He’s quite right about that Jeeves, the robes suit you.” He’s still wearing my old robe, refuses to let me buy something for him and I’m careful not to think about what he wears when he launders that robe. 

“Thank you, Sir. Will you be lunching in?” 

There is something rummy in Jeeves’ voice, something always is when I complement him, now that he’s human. “I think I’ll see what the Drones are up to for lunch.” 

“Very good, Sir.” 

He floats away and I charm my spine tingler to me, and work to find out who used Pixy poison on the Parchoos family. 

**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **J <3B **

After lunch, I Floo myself back to the flat, a rum feeling propelling me. Not something I can pin down, just something that tingles on the edge of my awareness. I think it’s some desire to get the soupiness out of Jeeves’ voice, though I have no idea how to do that. I start to call out for him, but seeing a letter floating at my eye level stalls my shout. ‘Mr. Wooster’ is written in neat, precise letters and even before I reach for it, my stomach is abandoning ship, dropping into my feet for a quick escape. 

_Mr. Wooster,_

_Forgive me this action, but I feel I must initiate a change. I do this with your best interests in mind. I have made you an appointment with the Office of House Elf Relocation, one hour before teatime. This should be adequate time to select a new house elf and allow him to prepare your tea._

No signature at the bottom, but clearly from Jeeves. Sagging down into the chesterfield I find a glass at my elbow. Downing it helps, but not enough, as I sit and stare without a thought in my head. I could have sat there all day and night, staring, but an owl lands on my leg. Automatically, I take the note from the owl, which flies off. It was a confirmation of my appointment at the Ministry of Magic, and a quick glance at the clock let me know it was thirty minutes away. 

I stumble to the _salle de bain_ to freshen up as best I could without Jeeves’ assistance. Automatically, I finish that and walk to the fireplace, letting it take me to the Ministry. I go through security and to the elevators, where the attendant takes me to the right floor without even having to ask. My body does the walking, but my brain, such as it is, retraces the last time I was here. 

I’d just moved into my apartment, a Muggle-built building, my first place out of the control of kith and kin. Not that I didn’t love the k. and k., but my Aunt Dahlia’s Patronus was the only one I’d ever seen that made noise, an actual baying hound. My Aunt Agatha’s Patronus was a wolf, with red eyes and dagger-sharp fangs that ripped nephews into tasty tidbits for my Aunt, who was even scarier than her Patronus. Moving out, now that I had finished my schooling, was the best idea I’d ever had, but I knew I wasn’t ready to tackle a domestic life. So I’d found a flat and staggered off to the Ministry, in search of a house elf. 

The wizard at the desk had seemed bored out of his mind, and with a clap of his hands ten house elves Apparated into the office. They looked as one might expect any house elf to look, with skinny bodies and improbable heads. Eager for work, their large eyes gazed at me with hope and begging, telling me I could be their master. Jeeves walked in, head up and shoulders back, pride and intelligence straining in his eyes as he carried a large mug to the wizard in charge. His Ministry of Magic-approved flannel loincloth was clean and neat, and worn with dignity. After a lifetime at the receiving end of a few choice comments my Aunt A. had for me, I knew I could use some dignity in my life, so I pointed to him. 

“You don’t want him.” 

“I like the look of him, all dignified and such.” 

“That’s part of his problem. He’s always getting above his station, trying to manage his human owners.” 

“If it doesn’t work out, I can bring him back or something.” 

“Of course, sir. If I can’t interest you in any of these other fine specimens, just sign this contract.” He marks a name where the form asks for the house elf’s name and slides the contract over to me. “This is a magical, legally binding contract that states this house elf is now your property and you are responsible if he does anything without your permission. Standard stuff.” 

I’m not sure about that, never having signed a contract before, but I scrawl my name at the bottom. Something in the house elf’s stern face twitched, and later I would learn his mandate about reading anything before you signed it. Then though, I received my copy of the scroll, took his hand and asked him to take me home. He took me to the apartment, without feeling the need to ask for an address, elf magic I supposed, and I turned a bright smile on him. 

“It’s not much, unfurnished and everything so you’ll have to figure out what you need for the kitchen and help me with the rest of the place as well. There is something called a butler’s pantry, which I figure you can use as a bedroom.” 

“A bedroom, sir?” 

“Yes, I had a standard sized bed put in it. I hope it will be enough for you.” 

“I do not require that much room, sir.” 

“Well, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but whatever makes you happy.” 

“Thank you, sir. My name is Jeeves.” 

Now I’m facing another line of house elves, eager for the chance at the work. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, and even if it did, there was only one bolt I wanted. I point randomly, and the chosen elf shuffles forward. He bows, I read and sign the paper, noticing his name is Meadows. 

“Meadows, take me home please.” My voice is sad and dull when I ask, and he does so. I request ale instead of tea, and he makes it. I have Firewhiskey instead of supper and I pass out before the nightcap. 

**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **J <3B **

Time has passed since then, in dribs and drabs, dragging me around with it, from the empty flat to the Drones and back again. I’d planned on drowning my sorrows in the cooking of my Aunt Dahlia’s country home, hosting enough house elves that she had one strictly for cooking. I wondered if there was something wrong with me that I knew his name, Anaty or that he had a thing with Aunt D’s housemaid elf, Plink. 

But somehow, with Meadows organizing my schedule, I found myself at another country estate that he’d Apparated me to from Aunt D’s, surrounded by people I didn’t know. Tartan was there, chummy with the owners, who looked to be his parents, all decked out in matching kilts. He’d sent me several drinks, but avoided talking to me for a while. After Meadows Apparated me here, I’d thrown myself on the nearest surface, and called for a drink. Not respectful to my hosts, certainly, but the only one who cared about that had walked out on me. Drinking to forget him, and the pain of his betrayal, wasn’t really working, but it was the only plan I could come up with, without him. 

“Bertie, old chum, up you get.” 

“Did you bring me a drink?” I’m approaching drunk, but the service at this party is very slow. Tartan doesn’t respond at first, putting an arm around my waist to help me to my feet. 

“Walk with me Bertie, and I’ll get you another drink.” 

I attempted to explain to Tartan that he was not an individual trustworthy enough to hang out with, as his resent absconding of Jeeves’ restorative without providing me the information I needed showed. But for the sake of getting properly smashed in order to avoid thinking of the bloomer I had made with Jeeves, I would trust him to provide me with a drink. All that came out was a single word, in an embarrassingly hopeful tone. 

“Drink?” 

Tartan pulls me to my feet, and I go with him. Instead of a drink, I’m presented with a young filly, black hair and green eyes. I need slick backed black hair and blue eyes that I have to look up to, not nose to nose. Pretty enough, but stern eyes and the makings of aunthood all about her. 

“Bertie, this is my sister, Minny. She’s home from Hogwarts for the holidays.” 

I blink at Tartan for a mo., trying to remember why she’s important. I feel she’s important, but can’t latch onto why just now. 

“Bertie, she can fix your problem, with Jeeves.” 

That does it, and I focus my all onto Minny like a drowning man might affix himself to a steady stern in the briny blue. “Minny, old thing, reverse that wish and I shall give unto you half my kingdom! Or all, if you need.” 

“Yes, I did try and get in touch with you, but Tartan is clearly up to something. Where did he go?” She turns to look for him, but I grab at her, needing her attention. 

“Somebody messed with your potion, so this Flannel guy didn’t want to fix it, thought it best if you tried.” 

“Origins and intent of the original caster do matter in magic. I did receive an Outstanding in potions, but it’s not my best skill. I made the prizes for the practice, but I’m sure I can alter the results.” 

I open my mouth to thank her, but a magic chime causes silence across the room. Turning to look, I see Tartan, standing between his parents and the fireplace. Or, Tartan’s back was to the fireplace, and his parents were standing in front of him, and they were all facing the crowd in their house. Papa Tartan made a gesture, and everybody fortunate enough to have a glass got to see it refilled. Not that impressive a bit of magic, but to do it for a crowd this large was. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” Papa Tartan was off, waffling about the season and such rot. 

I mostly tune him out, snatching two drinks off the tray carried by a passing house elf. Downing one, I hold the other ready for the toast that would come eventually. I turn to ask if Minny had gotten her one when my name is announced and I wrench my head back to Papa Tartan. There is applause, and cheering, and people looking at me. I turn, once again, to Minny. 

Her face is stern, red and ready to kill, but her teeth-sharpening aunt-glare is focused on Tartan, and I, rather prudently, step out of the cross fire. She stalks over to him, and I hide behind some large planted pots in the room, hoping they’d be man-eaters, and not just rash-causers. 

I knew that look, well enough to guess what Papa Tartan had said, though the faces were reversed. Usually, when my engagements were announced, the bride-to-be-or-so-she-said was smug and happy. The family look as if they were about to chew hornbeam wands and spit magic toothpicks, capable of picking apart one Bertram W. Wooster as if he was a delicacy that could only be transported in small bits. I finish my glass, and am wondering if I could sneak out of the party without it being noticed, when Minny finds me again. 

“That brother of mine, conspiring with my parents! I’m seriously considering Transfiguring them all into a silver tea service. Except, they like tea, so I think I’ll only ever make coffee in them, make them squirm.” 

I nod and try not to be noticed, self-defense against those more powerful than me, especially when they are angry enough to shoot steam out of their wands. She reaches out and pats me on the shoulder, a bit harder than I would like. 

“Don’t worry; I’m not mad at you. I just want my family to see that I have more to offer than marriage.” 

“I want Jeeves.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name since he left, even if it is a tiny whisper. Apparently it still works, that house elf’s response to his master's call, as suddenly Jeeves is there. Tall and straight, he’s wearing the black suit of a Muggle servant, holding a tray of drinks in his right hand, left hand behind his back. I’m no longer concerned with the drinks, any drinks, as I throw myself around him, hugging and swearing I’ll never let go. 

“Who are you?” Minny asks in a tight voice, and I know I should respond, explain but I can’t, as that would involve letting Jeeves have enough air to breath. Paragon that he is, he endeavors to explain. 

“I am Mr. Wooster’s servant, Jeeves.” 

“That was the name of the house elf my potion harmed.” 

“Harmed is not the proper word, madam. It changed me.” 

“I can see that.” Minny sighs before speaking again. “Let me take those drinks, before he makes you spill them. He’s properly smashed, you know.” 

“Yes, madam. Is there a particular reason for his current inebriation?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m about to get just as inebriated if I can’t figure out how to get out of our engagement.” 

“Perhaps if you explained the situation to me, I might provide some small insight.” 

“Tartan, my brother, wants to go to America and try his hand at raising chickens or something. He’s the oldest, so my parent’s won’t support him, financially, until I’m taken care of.” 

Even in my condition, clinging to Jeeves, left ear listening to the thump of his human heart, I hear the condescension she puts into her words. Clearly, Minny doesn’t think she needs to be cared for. 

“He wants me to marry. They want me to marry. What I want doesn’t involve marrying, so it doesn’t count. Tartan’s been telling them that Bertie contacted them and then me at Hogwarts because he’d been intrigued by Tartan’s descriptions. Tonight, Tartan heard Bertie promise me a reward for helping, and informed my parents it was a proposal. I want to finish my N.E.W.T.S. and teach.” 

A gentle sound, a triumphant cough that put me in mind of a Bowtruckle that had found a tree perfect for making wands from, and was settling in to raise a family. Drunken thoughts maybe, but it was the most wonderful noise in the world. Jeeves had an idea. 

“If it is not too impudent of me, I might offer a suggestion, madam.” 

“Offer away.” 

“Perhaps you should find Mr. Wooster in a compromising position with another female. After such an affront, at the party where your engagement was announced, no one would find it strange if you were to call off the engagement. Such a public display would prevent your parents from demanding the ceremony go through, thwarting your brother’s plans.” 

“I could even return early to Hogwarts, in a fit of broken-hearted pique. Excellent, Jeeves!” 

“Madam is most kind. However, I will need Mr. Wooster to let me leave so that I may find a suitable woman for him to kiss.” 

“Jeeves, I’ll make this up to both of you.” Minny promises. 

I didn’t like the sound of that, but before I could formulate a response the rough fabric under my head shifted. It became softer, and bits of padding were forcing themselves up from his chest. Forcing myself to look, I was faced with a human Jeeves dressed as a female, complete with curly black wig. Minny had Transfigured his clothes, but I’m not sure where she got the wig. I gave an involuntary squeak at what was to come, but didn’t move to untangle myself from human Jeeves dressed as a girl. 

“Bertie!” The angry cry rent the air, as a powerful blast from Minny’s wand cleared away the plants we were hiding behind. 

Everyone turned to her voice, to where I was now exposed, and clinging to a human female. 

“Bertram Wooster, how dare you trifle with my affections like this! My parents welcome you into our home, allow our love, and you can’t tell me from another girl at our engagement party. You cad! You bounder, you’ve broken my heart, so I’m breaking this engagement!” 

Minny rushes away, a hand flung dramatically over her eyes, but I think I’m the only one to notice she’s not crying. Instead, she’s left the room, left me to face an entire crowd angry at me for breaking her heart. I clutch a little tighter to Jeeves. 

“Sir,” he whispers in my ear, making me forget about the rest of the world. “Take the Floo network to the Drones. I will come when you call.” 

He pushes me away, a bit of magic behind his shove, and he runs towards the large doors overlooking the garden, still dressed as a filly. I totter over to the fireplace, knowing that all I have to do is get through it and I can call Jeeves back to me. 

“Sorry about the disruption, folks. I, well, dash it all, never meant for things to end this way. Nor did I really mean for things to begin this way, but I suppose all things have a beginning and an end. Don’t they Tartan? Isn’t that why you begged me to court your sister, so you could leave England, a beginning of sorts?” 

Folks are turning to look at Tartan, so I get a second of inattention to grab some Floo powder, throw it in the fire and speak. “The Drones, London!” 

The place is welcoming and loud when I get there, even with most of the members off to celebrate Christmas with their families. I turn back to the fireplace I just came out of, and Floo myself to my apartment, wanting to tell Jeeves all the things I’d held back while he’d been gone in the privacy of my welcoming flat. Instead, I emerge into an apartment with an atmosphere even tenser than the party I’d just ruined. 

Meadows is floating, so he can look Jeeves in his, male, human eyes. All the light in the room seems to come from them, even as all the heat is drawn to them. 

“I know you, Jeeves, you’re a freak of nature.” 

I want to point out that Jeeves’ human form is my fault, but Jeeves answers first. He’s angry, in a way I’ve never seen him, angry and ready to fight. 

“I perform my duties. You are stealing from Mr. Wooster and neglecting your duties to him. You are the disgrace to the house elf species.” 

“You think you’re better than us, think you should get a wand. Reading when you have work to do!” 

“I read on my own time.” 

“There should always be work to do, which is why house elves exist!” 

“Not if you do it right the first time.” 

Jeeves must have insulted Meadows with that, because Meadows is gathering magical energy, moving and throwing in an instant. 

A quick catch and throw, and Jeeves diverts the ball of magical energy. He follows it with his head, sees me standing there, and realizes just before I do that the energy is going to hit me. A loud crack, a bit of quick Apparition, and Jeeves is standing before me, taking the magic to his chest. He hangs in the air, before slowly dropping, sagging ungracefully to the ground. I rush to catch him, try and land him gently. 

“Meadows, go get Minny!” I hear myself shouting, not really sure what I want her for but knowing she’ll have a better idea of what to do than I do. I have a great respect for brainy people, I just know I’ll never be one. 

“Bertie?” A second of disorientation from the forced Apparition, and then she’s kneeling beside Jeeves. “What happened?” 

“Him and Meadows were fighting, Jeeves put a bit of the English on the magic, but saw it was going to hit me, took it to his chest.” 

“House elf territorial dispute, that’s why there are so few places where large number of them congregate.” 

I feel like shouting at her, as this isn’t something I care about, but I feel like she’s talking to keep me calm why she thinks through things. 

“Bertie, you have to make Meadows perform a lot of tasks, drain his energy.” 

I’m looking at Jeeves, and I follow her words, getting inspiration from the brain cradled in my lap. “Meadows, go to my Aunt Dahlia’s house, and start bringing my things back here, one item at a time.” 

Meadows mutters something like confirmation at me, and Disapparates. 

Minny makes herself comfortable on the Floor beside Jeeves and talks, now to calm me down. “Meadows put his energy into stopping Jeeves. If we wear him out, he’ll take back that energy, releasing Jeeves from the spell.” 

“Is Jeeves all right?” 

“He will be, once Meadows relents. The spell is just making Jeeves immobile, so he can’t go to their owner and get Meadows freed. The winning house elf will use this time to ingratiate himself to the owner, so he can have the other freed. It’s a peculiarity of the species that they won’t show all their magic to Wizards, so we don’t know much about them. I only know of this fighting technique from rumors.” 

Minny looked at me, pinning me, piercing me and making me dread what was coming next. 

“Meadows didn’t count on how much you care about Jeeves.” 

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, ignoring the sound of Apparition and Disapparition from my bedroom, hoping that’s just Meadows doing as I instructed. 

“Yes. How long have you loved him?” 

“I adored him as a house elf, he was the missing piece in my life. But when I saw him as a human, I realized there was one thing missing from my life, and he still filled the role.” 

“Then why did you want the effects reverse so bad?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Oh.” Minny offers in a tiny voice, probably understanding more than I do from my comments. 

“I have finished, master.” Meadows grumbles, bowing to the carpet. 

“Go get my trophy for best Muggle costume.” Meadows complies, and I hand the thing to Minny to study. 

“Make us tea.” It’s not much, but I need something. I think about it until he comes back with the tray, and serves us. “Now go to China and harvest enough tea leaves to make twenty pots of tea.” 

He pops out, and I share tea with Minny in silence, while she prods the trophy with her wand. When Meadows returns, I still haven’t thought of anything, so I pass the elf. 

“Do what Minny says.” She gives me a stern gaze. “I’ve never liked that nickname. Meadows, you’re going to take me home, and then I’ll tell you what to take to Hogwarts for me. Once piece at a time. Goodnight, Bertie, it was a pleasure breaking off my engagement with you.” 

“Anytime.” I offer with a weak smile, only to get another stern glare as Meadows Apparates them away. 

Not knowing what else to do, I start to sing over Jeeves’ frozen body. I’ve worked through all the tunes I know won’t hurt Jeeves’ delicate sensibilities, and I’m considering Muggle tunes when Meadows reappears. I don’t know what Minny did to him, but he looks exhausted. His leathery hand reaches toward Jeeves, and I force myself not to knock that hand away. When Meadows pulls his hand back, it crackles with energy, restoring him to his former, unexhausted self. Only then does he pull out the parchment and hand it to me. 

_Bertie,_

_I figured it out. The spell’s orientation was weakened by Tartan’s clumsy efforts at using my work for his own good. When you prodded it, the magic responded to the most heartfelt wish in the room. Speak that wish to this enchanted parchment, and tell it to reverse the effects or make them permanent. The two of you have to choose._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Caithness, Scottish Highlands_

“Meadows, bring me all the items you stole from me.” If he hadn’t stolen from me, he could protest the direct order. Instead he disappears, returning with all my fruitiest socks and dumping them beside me. Jeeves is stirring on my lap, but I force myself to concentrate on Meadows. “Meadows, you will never tell anybody about me, or your time with me, or anything you learned about me. You will also never speak to Jeeves in that manner again, or at all without my permission. Do you understand?” 

“Yes master.” Meadows grumbles, and lowers his head to the ground in a show of contrition. I know he’s lying about the contrition. 

“These orders hold you, even after you are free. Am I right, Jeeves?” 

“Yes, Sir, you are correct.” His voice is soft, and he’s not able to force me to let him go just yet. 

Weak, but recovering, and I’m able to reach out and grab a sock, a cheerful silk number in chartreuse with lime polka dots that Jeeves always flinched at the sight of. I fling it at Meadows, and it lands on his large, useless head. “You’re socked, Meadows.” 

A crack, and Meadows Disapparates, leaving me alone with Jeeves at long last. With his strength mostly returned, Jeeves sits up, prying himself away from me. I fight the urge to pick at the carpet, and force myself to look him in the eye. 

“Sincerely, Jeeves.” 

“Sir?” 

“Why didn’t you sign your letter to me?” 

“Sir, I believed you would know who it was from.” 

“I did, yes, but the rules of writing letters and such say you’re supposed to sign it. For you not to follow a rule like that, there was a reason. Will you tell me?” 

“You can order me to do so, Sir.” 

“Dash it! I don’t want to. I want you to stay with me, stay human and let me love you, because you want to.” 

“Sir, that is why I could not sign the letter. If you would order me to be human or house elf, it would simplify many things.” 

“What things?” 

“Sir, you have treated me with kindness and respect ever since I have known you. It did not take me long to determine the trophy had granted my wish, instead of yours. I wanted to show you how much I cared for you, how much I wanted you to be happy with just me. I was afraid you would wish for a wife or companion and it would not be me.” 

“Oh, Jeeves, what rot! I was perfectly happy as we were, how could you know everything about me and not know that?” 

“How could you name the emotions I was feeling before I could, and not know I was devoted to you, Sir?” 

“House elves are just that way, aren’t they?” 

“No, Sir. We are workers, but our respect must be earned. You handed me clothing the first week I worked for you.” 

“You mean you could have left at any time?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“You stayed, and put up with me, because you wanted to?” 

“At first I was afraid of ever finding another master, but soon enough I was devoted to you. I could not sign the letter Sir, without signing it ‘eternally yours’.” 

“Are you really?” 

“In whatever way you want me, Sir.” 

“Jeeves, I want you to be happy. I will admit to wanting to share my bed with human you, but I won’t order you to do that, even if I could.” 

“I know, Sir. If you did order me to do so, I could ignore the order. I could take it as a sign that you did not really care about me and leave.” 

“No! I don’t care what form you take or what you do to me or call me, but you must never leave me. I’ll pay you and shower you with gifts, whatever it takes.” 

“I left to make sure what I felt was real, and not just a reaction to the way you were looking at me, Sir.” 

“I tried not to, to stare and devour you with my eyes like some cad.” 

“Which made it even harder not to give you what you wanted, Sir.” 

“And forced you to leave.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Have you decided which form you’re going to take?” 

“I have one more experiment to conduct before I chose, Sir.” 

“You could experiment with calling me Bertie.” 

“Bertram.” 

Those rummy dreams that had abandoned me when Jeeves did, lurched back up into my throat, forming a lump that cut off my breathing, just from the sound of my name in his voice. 

“I would like to kiss you, Bertram, but I must ask for your patience. Kissing is not something house elves do; the noses often get in the way.” 

I’m not sure what to say to that, and maybe later I would wonder about house elf mating tactics, but right now I just lurch up to my knees. A shuffle forward and I’m close enough to kiss Jeeves, but unable to move that last few inches. He understands, reaches a long, strong hand around the back of my head and pulls us together. 

I tilt my head a little, he doesn’t. I move my lips, until his move against mine. I’ve never been called a great kisser, but I’ve clearly got the experience here, so I have to take the lead. When his mouth falls open, I slide my tongue into it. Then, it’s magic like I’ve never known, something that comes easily to this Hufflepuff. It’s pulling us in and together, making the whole world bright and cheerful, magical even. 

Jeeves grunts a breath and I pull back, afraid he isn’t feeling the magic, only to notice I’ve pushed his back to the Floor. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was pushing you around. Are you quite all right, dear thing?” 

“Sir, may I have that letter from Miss McGonagall?” 

“Oh, yes.” It takes me a minute to figure out where I’d left it, drag it from beside where I was sitting and hand it to him. I don’t let go just yet, a question having formed in my mind. “You’ve decided then?” 

“Sir, I wished to find a way to make you even happier. I found myself human, and unsure of how to proceed. Now I know how to do that, and I wish to be human for as long as you want me.” 

“Forever, Jeeves, absolutely forever.” 

The parchment flares, smoke clouding the air between us. When it clears, Jeeves is smiling at me, his smile reaching his human eyes. He’s reaching for me, and I reach back, and suddenly the magic is back. Jeeves is under me, warm and moving, hugging me to him and those dreams are back along with the need to make a mess. 

“Jeeves, you should shove me away before I ruin your clothes. Might have to wear those until we can buy some more.” 

Jeeves does something, and suddenly we’re both naked and even closer than before. 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Neither did I, Bertram.” 

“Motivation, I guess.” 

“Indeed, Sir.” He practically purrs it at me, and I lose all capacity for talking. 

I share this info by sealing our lips together, intending to never break the kiss. Jeeves grabs my wand arm, so I realize I’m still wearing the wand holster. Jeeves points my wand at himself and mutters something. I feel the magic, but I’m not sure what it does or what spell Jeeves wanted. When he rolls us so I’m on the bottom, I don’t care, lost in a more primal magic. Something else, a small bottle of oil of some sort, flies into his hand before he lets go of my wand arm, and I watch as he coats my cockstand with it. 

Jeeves adjusts us, but before I can do more than moan with need, Jeeves slides that oil covered bit of me into him, which is magically softened and ready for my slippery cock. Riding me, kissing me, Jeeves is driving me into pleasure and all I can do is thrust back and try to pull his lips in for a kiss. When he drives me over that edge of pleasure, it puts the tingles of my spine tinglers to shame. 

I’m wrapped in his arms, when I’m next aware of anything, still on the living room floor. I look to his face, and he’s staring at me with wide open surprise. Something very much like smug satisfaction takes up a purring residence in my stomach, knowing I put that expression on Jeeves’ face. Maybe not just me, so much as his, well, our first sexual experience. Together I mean, even though it is, technically, my first time with anybody as well. Whatever, I’m still very happy to see him like this, and I press a kiss to his jaw. 

“Best Christmas ever, Jeeves.” 

“Indeed, Bertram.” 

He’s not trying for an emotion free response, and my name in his voice still makes my body respond. 

“As soon as I can walk, we’re going to my, our, bedroom so you can teach me that spell.” 

“Very good, Bertram. It may take lots of practice.” 

“I certainly hope so.” 

For once in my life, my inability to do anything right the first time is making me very happy. And from the way Jeeves is softly stroking my skin, he’s going to be a very enthusiastic instructor. What kind of present am I going to get tomorrow, what with it being Christmas Day? Or, what wonderful thing can I give Jeeves in the morning? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure we’ll need new bed sheets before the new year starts. 

**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **J <3B **


End file.
